


For Old Times' Sake

by thestarryknight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "It's Complicated" is their relationship status, Artist Harry Potter, Drug Use, M/M, Marijuana, Potioneer Draco Malfoy, Recreational Drug Use, unusual careers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:54:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29334114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarryknight/pseuds/thestarryknight
Summary: On one such Thursday in the little shop at the very end of Hogsmeade, Harry’s slow perusal of theFood and Winesection of theDaily Prophetwas rudely interrupted by the noisy chime of the bell on the door. Enter: Dr. Draco Malfoy, world-renowned Potioneer and long-time keeper of Harry's heart, holding a joint.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 40
Kudos: 122





	For Old Times' Sake

**Author's Note:**

> hello! please be warned - this fic describes explicit recreational drug use (marijuana).

In the last doorway on the furthest alleyway of Hogsmeade Village, one can find a little shop that sells all sorts of furniture and wooden oddities. A curious customer, warm butterbeer in hand, might pause at the window to the shop, looking inside to take in the rack of brilliantly glazed pots and mugs and serving bowls in azure blue and emerald green and sandy beige, or look longingly at the wide wooden table, freshly made and still smelling of pine and varnish. Of course, plenty of people went inside too, lingering over the shelf marked "Luna's Tinctures & Tonics" in yellow and blue handwriting, or eyeing the neat metal jewelry twisting around raw gemstones professing "magical enhancement" and "attracting romance." Displayed proudly by the windows on the left were a series of Muggle photographs, each labelled in neat penmanship with a series number, autographed by the artist -- V. Weasley -- and titled according to the models featured.

There was also the massive bulletin board, almost covered over with posters and business cards. At the present moment, there was at least one ad for an upcoming drag show at Little Compton Street, a request for donations to the Witches’ Shelter, and three separate book club descriptions: a pureblood discussion group, wix fantasy novels, and a third that only read _‘books. girls. chocolate. you like? you join.’_ with a floo coordinate and a date that changed itself monthly (though word is that only those _in the know_ could see the latter ad).

Naturally, the most interesting works were tucked away in the furthest room from the door. These massive pieces were more like fine art than furniture. A customer who knew the place well would walk first to this little room and peer inside with wide eyes. If he had been in a creative mood recently, they might see a recent Harry Potter original: a massive arching wooden door cut with gem-like stained glass along one side, or another, a tiny lamp made in shades of yellow and red and golden orange sparkling over the wooden base turned in excellent detail.

On their first visit, most customers would wander through the store, letting their fingers drift over the back of a Stickley-style chair, or pretending that they were interested in the little silver snake bauble that hung by the door or the rack of tea mixes of the most delightful scents. Really, they were usually there to stare at the shop keeper.

The life as a purveyor of beautiful things suited one Harry James Potter. In periods of creative calm, he could often be found lounging about on the fluffy maroon chair in the back corner of the shop, feet resting on a misshapen ottoman in a pair of novelty slippers. He was usually sipping on a large mug of tea that never seemed to empty and would begin almost any conversation by complaining about the temperature of said tea.

On one such Thursday in the little shop at the very end of Hogsmeade, Harry’s slow perusal of the _Food and Wine_ section of the Daily Prophet was rudely interrupted by the noisy chime of the bell on the door. Harry did not look up, continuing to stroke a hand over the little white and grey cat that had wandered in from the street two days past. He did not look up as the new customer stomped over the doorway and into the shop, huffing with some inexplicable ire.

He did, however, look up when that customer loomed over him with a familiar shadow. These days, Draco Malfoy had short cropped hair, a little longer on top than on the sides. He wore a thick overcoat in a rich shade of navy blue, trimmed with silver buttons and a touch of embroidery at the cuffs. Draco’s long, thin fingers were adorned with rings, one on each of his thumbs and one on the middle finger of his right hand, all of course, in silver.

Draco shot a warming charm at the mug of tea in Harry’s hand, a single arched eyebrow saying far more than any greeting would do.

“Malfoy,” Harry said carefully, sipping the tea. The charm had set it to the perfect temperature: not too hot to drink, but warm enough that Harry could feel it in his mouth and in his chest as he drank. “You’re back in town, I suppose.”

“Briefly,” Draco answered. He tugged one of the chairs off of the row on display and sank down into it. The chair in question had a high wooden back and an upholstered seat in a rich chestnut leather.

When other customers were considering chairs to purchase, they would sit in them daintily, anxiously, as though sitting down might risk damaging the chair or themselves. Draco lounged, unbuttoning his overcoat to reveal the neat grey trousers and matching vest underneath. He spread his legs and his arms and took up space and looked for all intents and purposes like he belonged in precisely that chair. Harry looked from the sleek (and certainly couture) black boots to the pressed line of his trousers, to the perfect cut of the vest. Draco was at the very surface, perfectly put together.

Harry set the cup of tea down on the hand-wrought metal table at his side and looked Draco fully in the face. His hair, though neat, was grown out at the edges like he had gone just a little too long without a proper cut. Draco had unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, revealing the barest hint of his long, aristocratic neck, but Draco only unbuttoned his shirt when he was on one of his working sprints. There were slight bags under his eyes, though Harry had rarely seen him without those in recent years.

Perhaps most telling was the way that Draco was looking at Harry, like Harry might have something on offer. Harry had many things to give. He had a whole shop of beautiful things his friends had made. He had a little cat who was missing one leg and only seemed to like Harry and no one else. But there was something naked in Draco’s eyes, wide and a little terrified at the edges, that made Harry lean around Draco to flick his wand at the door.

In the quiet of the little shop, the sound of the lock turning was a thunderclap, the _Open_ sign flicking to _Closed_ like a gust of warm air.

Harry sat forward. The cat rolled off his lap with a grumbling mewl and stomped (as much as a small and very fluffy cat could do) away. Draco leaned in from his chair as well and the space between them felt infinitely small, though they were still about a meter apart.

Somewhere off to Harry’s left, a charmed clock chimed for the hour mark. It rang three clanging times and fell silent. Harry looked at Draco and Draco looked at Harry and the only thing that stood between them were the floating dust motes.

“It’s been a while,” Harry said finally. “Is it two years this time?”

“You keep track,” Draco said, trying to hide a smile under his teeth. Harry could always see when he was trying not to let his emotions show. He had so many tells, from the way his eyes would flick away when he was disappointed, to the way his tongue would press against his teeth when he was disguising a smile with something bitter, to the way he would chew on his bottom lip when he was afraid but keeping his cool. Draco was like glass, so hard and impenetrable at first glance and entirely transparent once you got to looking at him.

“It is two years,” Harry answered, “I don’t need to ask. Two years, three months, four days, this time.”

“I hadn’t meant to stay away so long,” Draco looked at his hands, twisting one of the rings on his right hand. “There was an emergency in Brussels, and then I was conducting research in Marrakech and --”

Harry put up a hand. “The greatest potioneer in the world certainly doesn’t have time to stop by London.” Though he had a wry smile, there was no malice in his tone.

“I’m not the greatest--”

“Malfoy,” Harry interrupted. “I’ve heard the spiel. You might be the greatest if you weren’t hindered by the wrongdoings of your youth. You’re still bloody important, if it keeps you this busy.”

Draco frowned. “It’s not that I didn’t want to come back to London,” he said, quietly, into his hands, as though he wasn’t entirely certain of it himself. “See, Brussels was a very big deal. They’ve made a breakthrough in monkshood property research and you know that I work with monkshood frequently and--” He paused, watching as Harry picked up the mug of tea and sipped at it, frowning at the cup. Draco raised his wand to cast another warming charm but hesitated, meeting Harry’s eyes instead.

“My tea is cold,” Harry grumbled with a lightness in his eyes. Draco sent a careful warming charm to the mug under his hands, watching as the blue and green glazed ceramic glowed and settled to the perfect temperature once again.

“Some things never change,” Draco said. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry it has been so long.”

Harry shrugged, pressing both hands around the mug of tea and pressing it into his lap. Warmth from it was soothing, a steadying presence. He let the warm scent of Earl Grey drift over him, distracting him from that sandalwood and copper smell that always seemed to follow Draco no matter where he went or what else he did.

“Some things never change,” Harry echoed, inclining his head towards Draco, just a touch of bitterness in his voice.

“Harry,” Draco said, sitting forward until he was nearly knee-to-knee with Harry. “I’m not sure what to say,” he had an oddly uncomfortable expression on, eyes flicking from Harry’s face to the tea to the rack of wooden bowls behind him, and back to Harry.

They sat in silence for a long moment. Buried deep on the shelves somewhere off in the back area, the sound of miniature dragon’s wings fluttering around a little mobile sounded impossibly loud in the quiet shop. The little cat pushed the back door open, sending a clattering noise that startled them both.

Draco cleared his throat. “I missed you.” He said it like the words were an offering, placed in the tiny space between them.

It was like a dam broken. Harry covered the space left between them in a second, knees bumping up against Draco’s, reaching for him, for his hands. Harry tugged the hand with the ring on the middle finger, reaching to hold it, to feel his skin against Draco’s, and Draco let him, nearly sobbing with the feeling of it.

“I missed you too,” Harry said, voice cracking, “Every fucking time,” he shook his head. “I say that I won’t wait for you, that I can’t stand sitting around this place wondering when-- if you’ll deign to come back.”

“I always do,” Draco murmured, running his thumb over the back of Harry’s knuckle. He was chewing on his lower lip and avoiding Harry’s eyes and Harry wanted to just beg off and hold him completely, but the ache in his chest was louder. “I always come back.”

“Eventually,” Harry shook his head, staring at the place where Draco’s hand rubbed over his. “Maybe by next time you come back I’ll have found someone new,” he said bitterly though he meant the words. Draco’s thumb stilled its gentle movement, then picked up again.

“I’ve told you I would understand if you did,” he said under his breath, though Harry knew what it cost him to say it. Harry knew because it cost him the same to threaten it.

“You know I wouldn’t.” Harry stood up, dropping Draco’s hand and setting the tea mug down.

He walked through to the back of the shop. Draco waited, sitting anxiously in the leather and wood chair. There were a few sounds of things shifting, and a slightly alarming thud. Draco stayed put.

“Well,” Harry said, emerging from the back room with a small package in hand. “How long are you staying this time?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” Draco reached out for the package as Harry handed it to him. It was heavier than it looked, though just big enough to fit in his hands. He ran a hand over the smooth brown wrapping, neatly folded and spellotaped but otherwise unadorned. “What is this?”

Harry shrugged, hovering between the chair and standing over Draco. Eventually, he settled in the chair, picking up his mug of tea again and holding it with both hands. Draco ran a thumb underneath the tape, opening the package slowly, taking care not to rip the paper. That was always his way, no matter how much Harry teased him. He would never be the sort to tear through gift wrap haphazardly. Draco pulled the last bit of tape away from the paper and it fell open on his lap to a soft gasp.

“This is beautiful,” he mused, picking up the little silver and green glass snake statuette, turning it over and over in his hands and holding it to the light.

“ _Drasitirio_ ,” Harry said, nodding to the snake, and it activated, uncoiling under his hands. It curved across Draco’s open palms, shimmering brightly in the soft light of the shop. It slid between two fingers and curled gently around Draco’s wrist as though claiming him, its little metal tongue flicking out, tasting the air. Her head swung towards Draco and she blinked at him, inlaid obsidian eyes almost alive in their intelligence.

They both watched her for a moment. Harry had forgotten how stunning the piece was, how lifelike as it slithered so sinuously onto Draco’s shoulder. She was smaller than a little garter snake, not made to scale, and moved as though the glass and silver in her were her natural skin.

“They’re usually made with mermaid scales added,” Harry said quietly, “though I had this one custom built.”

Draco looked at him, meeting his eyes, both hopeful and remorseful and wanting, deeply wanting all at once. The snake slid fully onto his shoulder and seemed to fall asleep there, tail flicking under the edge of his vest.

“I know you’re very important,” Harry began. “Dr. Malfoy, Potioneer Extraordinaire and all that, I know your work is important to you.” Draco looked about to speak, but Harry shook his head and went on, “I would never ask you to give that up. I never will, Draco.” He paused for only a moment. “I still miss you. Even if I know all that, I miss you.”

“Oh,” was all Draco could manage. He sat forward in the chair, leather creaking, until his knees brushed against Harry’s again.

Harry, desperate for the contact, leaned forward too, setting the tea aside and reaching for Draco, pulling him up, pulling him in. They stood up and crashed together, arms sliding around each other until they were hugging so tight and so close that Draco could hardly breathe, could hardly tell if the heartbeat in his chest was his own or Harry’s. He pressed his nose into the space behind Harry’s ear, and Harry put his hand over the back of Draco’s neck, brushing over the little hairs there. They weren’t kissing, didn’t need to kiss for Harry to feel breathless with the feeling of it all.

At some point, they broke apart, far more slowly than they had come together. Harry enjoyed the soft flush across Draco’s cheeks and the way that the subtle pink went all the way down his neck, even through the little unbuttoned place. The silver and green snake seemed content, coiled happily across Draco’s shoulders and looking like it belonged there. It probably did.

Draco smiled, full teeth and everything, and Harry felt like he might be glowing, just a bit. He smiled back, leaning forward to press his forehead to Draco’s. “I missed you,” he said again, and pressed a kiss to Draco’s cheek.

They stayed like that, foreheads against each other, sharing breath, sharing space, just near to each other until Draco interrupted it.

“I brought a present too,” Draco murmured against Harry’s chest, “though it’s far less heartfelt and you’re certainly going to laugh at me for it.” He spread the palm of his hand against Harry’s shoulder, pressing the tips of his fingers into the soft hand-knit heather jumper.

“What did you bring?” Harry said, voice full of lightness. Draco pulled his hand away, reaching into his pocket.

Draco offered up a neatly rolled joint between them, pressing his tongue to his teeth, a playful smile in his eyes. Harry looked at it and arched an eyebrow at Draco, who rolled his eyes. “For old times’ sake, Potter,” Draco drawled, waving it between his hands. “It’s good stuff, I swear it. I had to stop off in Amsterdam to meet with -- well, he’s a very interesting man, specializes in dittany, would you believe it? -- Anyway,” Draco shook his head. “I thought you’d be up for a bit of relaxation.”

Harry took the joint from him, twisting it back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. “Suppose I could be convinced,” he hummed. “Amsterdam, really?”

“Theories of tulip pollen as a mandrake alternate,” Draco shook his head, “ask me about anything _but_ Amsterdam.”

Harry passed the unlit joint back to Draco and walked to the front of the store, jotting a quick note on the pad he kept by the door and spellotaping it to the glass. He flicked his wand, letting the shades close over the front, casting the inside of the shop in a subtle amber ambient light and a great sense of privacy. Harry stepped back to Draco, settling on the wide chair and gestured for Draco to join him.

Draco tugged the wood and leather chair closer, taking great care not to drag it on the ground. He sat down and put the joint between his lips. Harry leaned forward with a lit wand end and Draco breathed, taking the first puff. He coughed once, passing it over to Harry, who took a long drag and lay back against the soft chair, letting the smoke drift out of his mouth in slow silvery curlicues.

When Harry tilted his head back down, Draco was closer to him, halfway off the chair and hesitating. Harry waved him forward and Draco moved, sliding until he was sitting partway on the arm of the chair and part way in Harry’s lap. Harry put a steadying arm around him, tucking his fingers up under the vest and the dress shirt so he could press against Draco’s cool skin.

Draco took the next puff, eyes only for Harry as he did so. They were so close now, Draco’s legs falling between Harry’s, his free hand on Harry’s neck. The little snake was coiled on Draco’s abandoned chair, possibly happier for it. Harry reached for the joint and took a deep pull, leaning towards Draco even as it was still between his lips.

He pulled it from his lips, holding it between his first fingers away from Draco, and nudged him closer with the hand at Draco’s hip, asking.

“For old times’ sake,” Draco said again, rolling his eyes as he leaned in to meet Harry’s lips. Harry exhaled, passing the smoke through their mouths. It morphed quickly into a proper kiss, smoke leaking from the corners of their lips and Draco’s nose as Harry kissed him fully, only remembering the joint enough to keep it from burning them or the chair. They kissed like they had never stopped kissing each other, fitting together exactly as they always had, year after year.

Draco came up to breathe and snagged the joint, puffing on it and blowing the smoke across Harry’s chin. Harry shivered and pulled him closer, looking for another kiss, and Draco granted it willingly, excitedly, free hand roaming across Harry’s cheekbone, over the curve of his ear, settling against his shoulder. Draco took another drag and leaned in, kissing Harry through the smoke, mixing their air and their skin and their breath all in one.

Somewhere in a distant corner of the little shop, a windchime rustled, sending a soft tinkling sound through the air. Harry’s tea had gone cold once again. The cat was mewling to come in. The clock was preparing to chime for four o’clock. And Harry was more settled than he had felt in two years, three months, and four days.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! as always, you can find me on tumblr: [@the-starryknight](http://the-starryknight.tumblr.com/)
> 
> did you catch the references to eight lovely HP fics? They are, in no particular order:  
> \- Draco's mermaid scale allergy ( _[That Old Black Magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20228980)_ by [bixgirl1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bixgirl1/pseuds/bixgirl1))  
> \- The dragon mobile ( _[Modern Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785899)_ by [tackytiger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tackytiger))  
> \- Harry's wood/glass craft ( _[Turn](https://archiveofourown.org/works/879852)_ by [saras_girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saras_Girl/pseuds/Saras_Girl))  
> \- Silver snake bauble ( _[Aeternus Solem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27821446)_ by [onbeinganangel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onbeinganangel/pseuds/onbeinganangel))  
> \- Harry's hand-knit sweater ( _[The Way We Wind](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27645061)_ by [bluefay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefay/pseuds/bluefay))  
> \- Tea leaves for sale ( _[She Was Pretty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131548)_ (Lavender/Parvati) by [skeptique](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skeptique/pseuds/skeptique))  
> \- Draco's Burberry boots ( _[dress your family in](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503612)_ by [m0stlyvoid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/M0stlyVoid/pseuds/M0stlyVoid))  
> \- Shows at Little Compton Street ( _[Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025378)_ by [Writcraft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft))


End file.
